The Attack at Scotland Yard
by bemj11
Summary: Set after Close Call. Lestrade is hardly fit to be up and about, but when Gregson sends for him, he and Watson answer the summons to find Scotland Yard in chaos, and that the Superintendent has been shot. Watson's POV.
1. Chapter 1

Scotland Yard was a madhouse when we arrived. People were shouting, running back and forth, and generally panicking. I'd never before seen Scotland Yard in such a state.

Lestrade tried vainly to get the attention of passing Constables. After a few unsuccessful attempts, and nearly getting trampled in the confusion, he gave up and returned to my side. Then he took a deep breath.

"Will somebody tell me what the devil is going on here?" He bellowed, loudly enough to effectively silence, and still, the entire room. I was impressed, I had heard that Lestrade was capable of stopping a Constable in his tracks, but had never seen such a demonstration.

Then he winced, and swayed slightly, as if shouting had taken his last bit of strength.

Hopkins suddenly appeared beside him, and the room's occupants slowly went back to whatever they had been doing.

"Good, you're here." Hopkins said, too flustered to even notice that Lestrade's arm was still bound to his side, or that he looked ready to fall over at any given second. He _did _notice me. "And you, Doctor. We could certainly use your help."

"What's going on?" Lestrade demanded impatiently, and not for the first time since our arrival.

"The Superintendent's been shot." Hopkins declared. "Someone walked right into his office and shot him." Lestrade looked stricken. All the color had washed out of his face.

"Is he alive?" He managed to ask, after swallowing a few times. Hopkins nodded.

"Dr. Mills is with him. They aren't sure how bad it is yet." He continued as we headed for the Superintendent's office.

"The shooter?" Lestrade's tone was clipped.

"We've got him." Hopkins said wearily. "But he's not talking. Jones was questioning him; didn't get a thing. Not one bloody word."

We reached the office, and I soon found myself abandoning Lestrade to do what I could to help the doctor who was already with the Superintendent.

"Doctor Watson!" Dr. Mills almost sounded pleased to see me, in spite of our last meeting. "Give me a hand, will you?" I knelt beside the other doctor and got my first glimpse at the Superintendent.

It was bad; the Superintendent was lucky to still be alive. The bullet had missed his heart. It was entirely possible, however, that he might die anyway, in spite of everything Dr. Mills and I would do.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.


	2. Chapter 2

Scotland Yard was still in varying stages of utter disarray when I returned, but seemed to be gradually calming down. I was relieved; it is no pleasant thing to witness London's police form in a state of complete panic, though I understood the reason for it well enough.

After all, someone had walked into the station, as calmly as you please, made his way to the office of Superintendent Marshall, pulled out a gun, and shot him. The police force of London had been attacked in its own stronghold, and it was not the sort of thing to be taken lightly by the force.

I went looking for Lestrade, feeling somewhat guilty for having left him here alone in his condition, but there had, after all, been a life at stake. Had not Dr. Mills assured me that they would be able to manage and that I would probably be more use here, I would still be at the hospital. As it was, I could at least bring back the news that Marshall was alive and in good hands.

And I could make sure Lestrade had not collapsed somewhere. Nearly losing one's arm is nothing to laugh at, and the man had not actually managed to be up and out of bed before he had received that summons from Gregson today.

I found Lestrade, and he had not collapsed yet, although he looked close to it as he finished calming a couple of overwrought Constables and sent them about their business. I caught up with him as he nearly stumbled into Gregson.

Gregson steadied the other Inspector and made sure he wasn't going to fall over before saying, "Send my apologies to you wife for dragging you out like this, there's a good man." It was the closest thing to an apology Lestrade would get from the other man.

Lestrade managed to nod, but lacked the energy to do anything else.

Gregson turned to me. "Ah, Dr. Watson. How is he?"

"He's alive." I replied. "We managed to get him stabilized enough to move him to St. Bart's It'll still be a close thing, though. Dr. Mills is still with him."

"Good." Gregson looked somewhat reassured. It occurred to me that I had never seen the man so shaken as he was now.

"Hopkins said they caught the shooter." Lestrade put in, though the statement cost him.

"Well, he may have been able to walk in and shoot the man, but he certainly wasn't able to walk back out." Gregson replied. "You don't fire a gun in the station, not after that accident Jones had a year or so ago. His name is Jacob Hall. He's been clean up until now. We don't have a thing on him."

Lestrade gritted his teeth. "Jones questioned him?" He forced the question out. Gregson nodded.

"Didn't get a thing. Hall wouldn't even so much as insult him. Just sat and stared up at him." Gregson scowled. "I haven't been in there yet. _I'll_ get him to talk."

"I believe they call that police brutality these days." Bradstreet yawned as he approached. He'd been out all night the night before, I guessed. He looked as if he were trying to fall asleep where he stood.

Then he caught sight of Lestrade. "Holy-!" His eyes went wide. "Should you be up?"

Lestrade started to glare at him, but couldn't keep it up. "No. Should you?"

Bradstreet considered this. "Well, I'm awake _now_." He decided. "You want me to catch you if you collapse or something?" He turned to Gregson. "I think we've got the majority of the chaos controlled, but you know it's going to leak out, and then we'll have reporters to deal with."

Gregson groaned. "There's no way we can keep this quiet." He complained.

"Can we keep it controlled?" Bradstreet wanted to know. "You know they'll go after the Constables, and they know less than we do about what happened."

"So we tell 'em that no one's to talk to them." Hopkins piped up as he joined the impromptu conference. "Tell them to send the reporters our way. Tell them anyone caught talking to a reporter get a two day suspension without pay."

"Bit harsh, don't you think?" Bradstreet was skeptical. Hopkins shrugged.

"Better than what will happen if a reporter gets hold of someone like Wilson or Evans." He pointed out. He had apparently managed to pull himself together during my absence.

Gregson nodded. "All right, then. You going to tell them?"

Bradstreet shook his head. "Won't do any good. You know you and Lestrade are the ones that the Constables are scared to get on your bad side."

Gregson scowled. "I don't do mass terrorization." He grumbled.

Lestrade sighed. "I'll do it." He said. "I want to be there when you question Hall."

"Agreed." Gregson replied quickly.

For the second time that day Lestrade took in a deep breath. "Listen up!" He bellowed, and again the entire room came to a stop. "Word of what happened is going to get out. When that happens, the papers are going to be crawling around here looking for a story. They can talk to me or one of the other Inspectors. I don't want anyone else to utter a word on the matter. I catch anyone talking to a reporter other than to send them to one of us, it'll be a two day suspension. Without pay. Do I make myself clear?"

He was understood. Perfectly. He was also worn out.

The Inspector stumbled as he turned to rejoin us; he had considerately put a bit of distance between us and himself before he began shouting. His good arm went up, but there was nothing for him to catch himself on.

Except for Jones, who had arrived on the scene and was close enough to step into Lestrade's path so that instead of falling, he merely slammed into the other Inspector.

Jones scowled as he waited for Lestrade to regain his footing. "Does he need to be here?"

"He's been restoring order just as much as anyone else has." Gregson pointed out.

"And we're all very grateful." Jones retorted. "But in case you haven't noticed, he currently bears an alarming resemblance to a corpse." He put out a hand to steady the other Inspector. "At least find somewhere to continue this where he can sit down."

"Gregson wants to talk to your shooter." Bradstreet informed him cheerfully.

"He's not my shooter." Jones retorted irritably. "And I don't think we need him beaten to a bloody pulp."

Gregson growled. "It was one time. _One bloody time._"

"Besides," Hopkins pointed out, "Lestrade wants to go with him."

"Lestrade should be going home." Jones grumbled. "Look at him."

"Can't be helped." Gregson was entirely unsympathetic. "We need to deal with this as quickly as possible."

"So, what? Are you going to pull the bad cop/half dead cop routine on him?" Bradstreet wanted to know.

"Very funny." Gregson snapped. "Come on, Lestrade. You too, Doctor."

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.


	3. Chapter 3

A young man in his early twenties looked up at us as we approached. He didn't really look like a killer, but then, that had probably helped him in getting to the Superintendent's office. He was dressed moderately well, not shabbily, but neither were his clothes of the finer cut. They were neat; everything about this young man was neat.

"Hello." Gregson greeted the young man. "Can we talk?" The prisoner didn't respond. "I'm Inspector Gregson, and this is Inspector Lestrade. I believe you met Inspector Jones earlier?" Still no response.

Gregson kept talking. "You are aware that you just attempted to murder a member of Scotland Yard, in his office, no less, and that we are taking this very seriously. Perhaps you might tell us what you thought to accomplish by this."

He waited long enough for the prisoner not to reply. "If it was for revenge, or to send us a message, you're going about it the wrong way, you know. Because nobody here has the slightest idea why you would want to kill the Superintendent."

Gregson looked to Lestrade for help. I wasn't sure the other Inspector could really be much help, personally, but Lestrade considered the man before them.

"Your name is Jacob Hall?" Lestrade asked, but he received no reply either. "If you were acting on someone else's behalf, you should know that that sort of person usually leaves their messengers to rot in prison. If you were acting on your own, you might want to make sure that action wasn't wasted, because Gregson isn't lying. We don't know why you tried to kill the Superintendent. Think about it, Hall."

Lestrade shook his head, and looked back towards Gregson.

Jacob Hall sprang off the bench he'd been sitting on and was across the cell in a second. He reached through the bars for the Inspector.

It was then that we discovered that Lestrade was not being as careful as he normally was. He was standing too close.

Hall grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him roughly forward. Then he leaned forward to whisper in the Inspector's ear.

By that time Gregson had covered the distance between him and Lestrade and reached forward to collar the young man.

"Let him go." Gregson almost sounded concerned for the other Inspector. "Now."

Hall smiled and shoved Lestrade backwards. The Inspector stumbled, and I had to catch him to keep him from falling. He was too pale, and there was sweat beaded on his forehead. He was also trembling, ever so slightly, as he struggled to regain his footing.

Worse, he actually went to catch my arm as I would have stepped away from him. "You need to sit down before you kill yourself." I told him firmly. "No buts, or I'll send for your wife to come and take you home."

Lestrade nodded, and I moved to stand slightly behind and to the left of the man so I could support him if need be without being too obvious about it. "We'll be in his office." I told Gregson, who nodded tersely.

We left Hall in his cell and headed back towards the Inspector's office. Gregson left us there to find the other Inspectors. Lestrade sank into his chair gratefully.

He didn't look well. Not that I would have expected him to, given the circumstances, but even compared to how he had looked earlier this afternoon he didn't look well. He caught me examining him and favored me with a weary smile.

"How is your arm?" I asked.

He groaned. "I suppose you want to take a look."

I was hoping to do that earlier when I stopped by your home." I pointed out. "Now that you have a moment, I might as well. The bandaging probably needs changed, anyway." Lestrade nodded and mumbled incoherently in agreement, and I started on the task of untying his arm.

Elisabeth Lestrade knew her husband, and she knew what she was doing. It was a chore for _me_ to get his arm loose; the man would never have managed it on his own. Nor would any unforeseen incidents be likely to pull it loose.

I stood there uselessly while he stubbornly tried to get his shirt off by himself; he would not allow me to do what his wife had done for him earlier. But finally he got his arm out of his sleeve, and I could start removing the bandaging.

Olivia had been at it again, and was getting better. The bandaging had been done well, as nicely as one could ask for. "Your daughter's starting to get pretty good at this." I told Lestrade, mainly in an attempt to distract him from the fact that his arm was still almost useless in spite of the fact that it was no longer bound to his side.

He was too tired to reply, or even do much more than stare blankly at his desk while I inspected the injury. Now that the other Inspectors weren't here, he was no longer _trying_ to hide the fact that he should not have been up at all, let alone running around Scotland Yard and getting grabbed by would-be murderers.

"Holy-" Jones had walked in and caught sight of Lestrade's arm. Behind him, Bradstreet and Hopkins stared. Gregson failed to display that he felt any sense of sympathy for the man whatsoever.

"Break's over, I'm afraid." He said. "And your office is the new conference room."

Lestrade was trying to pull himself together. "We don't have a conference room." He said tiredly.

Gregson's expression flickered for less than a second. "Exactly." He agreed, sitting down in the chair he'd brought with him. "We brought chairs. And we're sending Hopkins for tea."

Hopkins recovered and obediently left to obtain a pot of tea.

I reached out and picked up Lestrade's hand. "Can you feel that?" I asked.

"Of course I can feel that!" Lestrade burst out. "I can feel my whole bloody arm." _That _brought Bradstreet back to his senses, and he quickly found a place for the chair he'd dragged along with him and sat down.

"Can you actually feel my hand, or is it just the movement that's causing you pain?" I asked, trying to remind myself that Lestrade was tired, and that he had never been one to advertise that he was hurt.

The Inspector was quiet for a moment. "I can feel your hand." He said finally. "But my whole arm feels like it's on fire, and when you move it…" He trailed off, looking miserable.

Bradstreet was trying not to gape. Gregson was studying his fingernails. Jones was pretending to read the scraps of paper on Lestrade's note board.

I regarded the Inspector before me. "How long have you been out of bed?" I asked, trying to be patient.

He sighed. "Since this afternoon." He replied.

"And you shouldn't have been up that early." I reminded him. "Of course your arm's going to feel like someone's lit it on fire."

He sighed in resignation. "I'm just tired of the constant pain." He murmured, softly enough that I almost didn't catch it. Then he tried once more to pull himself together. "Maybe now you'll leave me alone." He joked, though it lacked any enthusiasm. "Don't think I'm not aware that the only reason you come over is for my wife's cooking."

He was trying. I made myself chuckle as I began rebandaging his arm. "You've got me there, Inspector. Keeping you alive was all just a cover up."

"Can't fool me." He insisted, his eyes fluttering closed. I took the chance that he was starting to doze off and tried to help him with his shirt. He shook me off, but I had succeeded in getting his injured arm in his sleeve. He could manage the rest well enough himself.

Hopkins returned as the Inspector was buttoning his shirt one handed; he had a tray with a pot and a number of cups in hand, and a small basket hanging from one of his arms. I recognized the basket, and was glad for it.

"Package for you, Lestrade." Hopkins said, setting the tray and basket on the Inspector's desk. "Your daughter brought it by.

"Which one?" Bradstreet asked, curious, and Hopkins hesitated.

"Amy." Lestrade suggested. "Olivia won't be going anywhere until she finishes that book.

Hopkins had enough sense to start serving the tea; Lestrade would never have managed by himself, and would certainly have insisted on going without before letting someone else get it for him. The other Inspectors wisely didn't comment.

"Is that food?" I asked, peering into the basket. "I haven't had dinner."

"That's because you expect my wife to feed you." Lestrade sounded beat, but at least he was managing to joke.

"There's enough in there to feed an army." I commented. Bradstreet chuckled.

"Mrs. Lestrade got tired of us stealing her husband's lunch." He said brightly, commandeering the basket. He wasted no time in distributing the contents amongst the occupants of the room.

He eyed the small flask warily. "Is this yours, I hope?" He asked Lestrade. He unscrewed the lid and took a whiff. "Phew!"

Lestrade grimaced. "Probably." He said as Bradstreet handed it to him. He hadn't screwed the lid back on, so Lestrade had little trouble getting it off. He didn't bother smelling the concoction, but raised it to his lips and downed it.

Bradstreet shuddered. "I don't know how you do that." He confessed.

Gregson snorted. "Practice." He suggested. "Now let's get to business, and maybe we can go home tonight."

"Doubt it." Jones yawned behind his hand. "So did you get anything from Hall?"

"He wouldn't talk to me." Gregson replied. "But he did grab Lestrade. It _looked_ like he said something to him."

Lestrade was chewing on a biscuit. He thought for a minute, swallowed, and sighed. "He said that I should know."

"Know what?" Hopkins asked.

Lestrade half shrugged. "I don't know. That's all he said. 'You should know.'"

"What does that mean?" Hopkins persisted.

"I. Don't. Know." Lestrade ground out. "If I knew I'd tell you." He considered the cup of tea sitting on the desk, and shot Hopkins a look. The man had only filled it about halfway.

Hopkins tried, with little success, to look innocent as Lestrade picked up the cup with a shaking hand and didn't spill his tea.

"Could it be something that happened before our time?" Bradstreet asked. "Something only Lestrade might know?

"Why Lestrade, though?" Jones wanted to know. "Gregson, you've been here just as long as he has."

Gregson shook his head. "Lestrade was already here when I started. He'd been here a few years already." He said. "But that should narrow it down quite a bit."

"It's a start." Jones agreed. "We can start checking the files for anything that might be related to this Jacob Hall." He didn't point out that it was unlikely they would find anything without Lestrade; chances were they wouldn't know what they were looking for.

"Those will be in one of the back rooms." Gregson pointed out. "We won't be able to fit more than two people in there."

"We'll take it in shifts." Hopkins suggested. "I'll stay."

"I'll stay." Bradstreet offered. "You and Jones can relieve us in the morning." He said to Gregson.

I managed to relieve Lestrade of his cup before he dropped it; the man was utterly exhausted. I wondered just what Elisabeth had put in that flask, because he seemed on the verge of falling asleep.

Surely nothing that would interfere with his work. The woman would never do something like that. Jones eyed Lestrade as the Inspectors prepared to disperse. "Someone should make sure he gets home."

"I was already planning to do so." I assured the Inspectors. "I hope you won't need him, but if you do, send for me as well, if you don't mind."

Gregson nodded. "Well, you seem to have better luck with him than the rest of us would anyway. Thank you, Dr. Watson."

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.


	4. Chapter 4

Lestrade didn't utter a word as I ushered him into a cab. Nor did he bother trying to protest when I insisted on helping him down once we reached his home. He was barely keeping himself together.

Elisabeth smiled as she let us in. "Hello, John." She greeted me as she took over the handling of her husband. "I'll just put him to bed." I watched as she began maneuvering her husband up the stairs with the grace and ease of a woman who has done so many times over the years. "It's late; perhaps you might stay with us tonight? The couch is comfortable." She offered.

I watched the two for a moment longer, then slipped into the kitchen to return the basket. I set it on the table, and made my way to the sitting room.

I took a seat on the couch. It _was _comfortable.

I wondered if I should accept Elisabeth's hospitality. If Lestrade was called in, it would be better if I were here. I would be able to make sure the man reached Scotland Yard safely; I really didn't like the idea of him wandering through London alone in his condition.

Of course, I did have several medical visits to make tomorrow, and the thought of sleeping in my own bed was immensely appealing. And surely Elisabeth could make her husband wait for me to get here if there _were_ a call. Gregson had assured me they would send for me as well, and I could simply stop here on the way to Scotland Yard.

Elisabeth returned from putting her husband to bed. "He's out." She told me as she entered the sitting room. "Thank you for going with him."

"Not at all." I replied. "We couldn't have him loose in London in his condition."

She smiled at that, then asked. "Will you stay the night?"

I shook my head. "I have my rounds to make in the morning, and I think it's best if I head home. Thank you, though." She looked worried, and I added, "Gregson said if they needed Lestrade they'd let me know as well, so if that happens, I will stop by here on the way and your husband and I can go together."

She nodded, and relaxed a bit. "Well, good night then, John."

"Good night, Elisabeth." I said.

I made it home without incident, and went to bed almost immediately. I had little trouble getting to sleep, for it had been a long day.

I started on my rounds after breakfast the next morning, but my thoughts, whenever they were not occupied with dealing with the complaints of the people I was visiting, kept wandering back to this business at Scotland Yard.

Why had Hall shot Superintendent Marshall?

Just what was it that Lestrade was supposed to know?

I hoped that they wouldn't need the man today, but knew better than to expect as much. It had been clear enough last night that he would likely be needed before long; the other Inspectors had seen Lestrade's condition and would do what they could without him, but it would still be likely that he was called in.

I stopped by to see Dr. Mills after I finished my rounds. He looked tired, but waved me over. "He's alive, and still stable, if that's what you wanted to know." He said as I joined him.

I smiled. "I thought it might be nice to have good news if I was asked today." I admitted.

"And you will be, I'm sure." Mills replied. "I saw Lestrade yesterday. Are you sure he should be up? He looked ready to collapse on the spot."

I sighed. "He shouldn't be up, but try telling him that. Especially with what happened to the Superintendent. I was lucky he was completely exhausted last night, or I doubt I would have managed to get him to go home."

"How is his arm? I noticed it was tied down?"

"His wife did that." I told him. "The woman knows her husband. There was no way he was getting that loose. I had enough trouble myself when I went to see how the injury was healing."

"And it's healing well?" Mills asked.

"It's healing." I agreed. "It'll still be some time before we know if he'll ever be able to use it again, but it looks good so far."

"I'm glad to hear it." He said. I wasn't surprised. Dr. Mills and I may have disagreed over how to deal with Lestrade's injury, and he may not have been happy when I had taken over, but Mills was a doctor, and a good man. Mills offered me a smile. "I have to admit that I was both surprised and pleased to see the Inspector on his feet last night, even if he should have still been in bed. It meant that he was at least on the mend."

He wouldn't apologize. He had been acting as his conscience and his medical experience had led him. There was nothing to apologize for in that.

"I have to admit," I told him, "there were times when I wondered if I hadn't made the wrong choice. The infection alone…"

"It seems to be working out." Mills assured me. "But I don't have to tell you to watch him all the same."

"No, you don't." I agreed. "But I'm getting sidetracked. Marshall?"

"The man is weak, and it's still possible we might lose him. But his condition has been pretty stable, and we're doing everything we can." Mills informed me, and I chuckled.

"Spoken like a true doctor." I joked, and Mills laughed.

"All right, well, we're supposed to be reassuring without getting people's hopes up, now aren't we?" He asked. "But as long as we don't get any nasty surprises, he should recover. How's that?"

I nodded. "I imagine you don't want visitors from the Yard?"

Mills frowned. "Do you think they _would_ visit him?"

I shook my head. "They'll ask after him, but they'll figure he'd appreciate them dealing with the situation than showing up and annoying him. And they'd be right. But if they get any leads, and want to question him…"

"Right now I'd say that he doesn't need any visitors." Mills replied. "I'll let you know if that changes, though."

"Thank you." I said. Then I considered the man before me. "Get some rest, Mills. You're no good to anybody if you wear yourself out."

Mills snorted. "You're one to talk, Watson." He replied. "I don't know what would've happened to you after Mary died if the Lestrades hadn't taken an interest in you."

I would have denied it, but there would have been no use. We both knew better. I also knew Mills wasn't inclined to spreading gossip.

"How well do you know the Lestrades?" I asked instead.

The man considered. "More than most, but not very well." He replied after a moment. "I've patched up the Inspector a few times, but I know the Mrs. better. I helped see all five of their children into this world."

I frowned. "They only have three children, Mills."

The other doctor didn't disagree with me, but stood and made to shake my hand. "If you'll excuse me, Watson, I've got to get back to work."

I nodded. "Of course." I agreed, clasping his hand. "Thank you for your time, and I'll tell Lestrade you were asking after him."

I left the hospital and debated on whether to head back home or over to the Lestrades. The Inspector would be lucky if he hadn't been called in yet, and there was always the chance that someone would call him and not know to send for me as well.

I ended up heading for Lestrade's.

Elisabeth greeted me at the door with a resigned look that said her husband was being her husband again. It was not a look many were privileged enough to be allowed to see. Usually the woman kept her worries to herself.

"Is he here?" I asked quickly, worried that Lestrade might have taken off to Scotland Yard by himself.

"He's here." She assured me. "He even slept. But he woke up this morning and started going through his old notebooks."

"His old notebooks?" I asked as she let me inside and took my coat and hat. "Shouldn't those be down at the Yard?"

She smiled. "If they would be of any use to anyone down there other than perhaps Inspector Hopkins, he probably would've left them. But they're all in his shorthand, so they're here."

"And he's been going through them since-?"

"He woke up around ten. And Amy's in there with him now, reading for him."

"Reading for him?"

Elisabeth nodded. "She caught him rubbing his eyes and reading the same page for about twenty minutes, so she took it and started reading it for him."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Are all of your children capable of reading his shorthand?" Elisabeth chuckled as well, and led me to the sitting room.

"It comes in handy, now and again." She admitted, and left me at the door.

Lestrade was lying on the couch, his eyes closed, his left hand drumming against his leg as he listened. Amy was seated in one of the armchairs, reading from one of his notepads. There were two stacks of such notepads, presumably they had already been through the smaller stack and were working through the larger.

Amy looked up and flashed me a smile, but went back to reading. I don't know that Lestrade even noticed I had entered the room.

His eyes jerked open abruptly; he lurched off the couch and was stumbling to his feet. "Of course! Mark that page, Amy, if you please." He murmured as I stepped forward to steady the man.

Amy marked the page and offered me the book as her father looked around the room helplessly. "Where are my shoes?" I assumed this was directed at his daughter,

"Here." She replied. "Sit down, unless you want me to get Ma."

She made short work of helping him get his shoes on, and ignored both his embarrassment and impatience as he had to sit and let her do it. "You will go with him?" She asked me.

I nodded. "Certainly." I assured the young woman before turning to Lestrade. "Where are we going?"

Lestrade was worried. "_You _are going to St. Bart's." He informed me tersely. "No arguments. We don't have time." I was hesitant, especially as he staggered once more to his feet. "Please, Doctor."

Against my better judgment, I nodded. Lestrade was not simply being stubborn here.

"Find the Superintendent. Don't let anyone near him, Doctor. _Anyone_, you hear me?" He flung the orders at me as we headed for the street. "Stay with him."

"Of course." I agreed. "Where are you going?"

"Scotland Yard." He replied hurriedly, as he flagged down a cab and insisted that I take it.

"You figured it out?" I asked as the cab started on its way. Lestrade nodded.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.


	5. Chapter 5

Mills shook his head, but did as I asked and vacated the room. "If I were you, I'd start demanding more information from the people I worked with." He said as he left. "You're here, but you don't know why, waiting for something, but you don't know what, or possibly someone, but you don't know who."

I shrugged. "Lestrade usually has a pretty good reason when he doesn't bother to explain himself." I offered.

Mills still looked worried. "Watch yourself, Watson." He warned. I was grateful he hadn't decided to point out that Lestrade was still not operating in peak condition.

I kept my attention on the unconscious Superintendent. Marshall was improving, slowly, but he still needed watching. Since I was here, that task fell to me.

I wondered what Lestrade had found, and why he had sent me here. What did he fear? Did he know who was behind the shooting and why it had happened?

All I could do was sit impatiently and wait for what seemed like hours, and hope Lestrade was alright.

I started as Gregson arrived on the scene, Lestrade in tow, looking ready for a fight. When he caught sight of Marshall and myself and realized we were the only other two people in the room he relaxed, then returned to give Lestrade a look.

"Are you going to explain yourself now?" Gregson demanded, even as Lestrade looked around as well.

Lestrade looked puzzled, confused. No, the man looked completely at a loss. "I-" He didn't finish whatever he had been going to say, but his eyes widened, and he grew even paler as Bradstreet burst into the room.

"Johnson is dead alright." Bradstreet informed Lestrade grimly. "Shot in the chest. Not an hour ago, by the look of things. Jones is taking care of things there."

Lestrade swore, and went for the revolver he wasn't carrying. He turned to Bradstreet, alarm written plainly in his dark eyes. "Will you go to my family?" He asked, his voice oddly low.

Bradstreet didn't ask for an explanation. He simply nodded.

"If anyone asks, I'm here. Hurry." Lestrade admonished cryptically even as Bradstreet was off again in a flash, leaving the other Inspector to stare blankly at nothing.

"Lestrade?" Gregson ventured uncertainly. "What's going on?"

Lestrade didn't look at Gregson. "He'll be after me next." He muttered.

"Who?" Gregson demanded.

"He'll stop by the house. He may leave them alone if I'm not there…"

"Who?" Gregson repeated, his tone harsh.

This time Lestrade met the other Inspector's eyes. "He'll be after me next." He said again. Then he looked over at me, hesitant.

It was Gregson who asked what Lestrade was hesitant to suggest. "Can we stop him here, then?"

Lestrade was thinking as quickly as he could, all things considered. "He won't show, not if he sees you two."

"There are beds here." Gregson pointed out. "Turn down the gas, we pose as sick patients. You could be trying to question the Superintendent about the attack. As soon as he gets close enough, we have him."

"Unless he simply shoots Lestrade." I felt required to point out.

Lestrade shook his head. His eyes were once again blank, unfocused. "He won't. He swore he'd kill me with his own two hands."

"We may not have much time." Gregson said, and we hurried to take our places.

A few minutes later the lights were dimmed, Gregson and I were both 'resting comfortably,' and Lestrade was seated beside Marshall's bed, to all appearances speaking softly to the man.

We settled down to wait in the dim light, and I was unprepared for Lestrade to start speaking as we waited.

"Marshall was never actually involved." He revealed. "He wasn't here back then, of course."

"Of course." Gregson agreed when Lestrade fell silent. "Beals was the Superintendent."

"Right." Lestrade said. "The position is the key there; Marshall would've done the same thing had it been him. You weren't there yet, but you probably heard the jokes about it.

"I was only recently promoted, and hadn't learned yet that there are just some places you don't touch. When the body was found and we were called for, Johnson wanted to know if I was daft when I suggested investigating the area and the few suspects I had in mind.

"When I asked him why, he looked at me funny, and asked if I really wanted to go up against a batch of slave traders. I asked him if that wasn't my job, and got another look, but he said if I wanted to do this, really wanted to, then I'd best be ready for the consequences.

"I asked him, if it was such a daft idea, why he was so eager to help. Turned out he'd had a sister growing up, that was taken. Or at least, he was convinced that was what had happened, and anyway, the children being taken were someone's siblings."

"So you took down the gang." Gregson surmised.

"Eventually." Lestrade agreed. "After nearly getting killed, fired, abducted, and sold all in one day, yes. The Superintendent told us afterward we were both insane, but we got convictions for every one of them except the leader, and he ended up being admitted to an asylum after he promised he was going to kill all those involved."

"And you think this is his work?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

"I think he got out, somehow." Lestrade replied. "And sent Mr. Hall to take out Marshall. Then he went after Johnson, and waited until he was alone. Now-"

Lestrade fell silent. I strained my ears, and fancied I heard steps in the hall. Gregson was leaning back in his bed and seemingly asleep. I quickly followed his example, watching Lestrade under half closed eyelids.

Someone entered the room; Lestrade didn't even bother to look up, not even when the newcomer spoke. "How is he?"

"He's alive." Lestrade replied wearily.

"Not for long." The newcomer spat, and Lestrade turned and was on his feet as the other man lunged towards him.

Gregson and I were up and rushing to Lestrade's aid as the man shoved him backwards and he stumbled over the chair he'd been sitting on and fell. The Inspector's attacker was down on top of him in less than a second.

Two seconds later Gregson and I were hauling him off the Inspector, and I was hoping desperately that Lestrade had not injured himself further when he had fallen.

"You're under arrest." Gregson told the man. "Anything-"

The man tried to resist; Gregson merely cracked him in the back of the head, knocking him unconscious. He proceeded to cuff the man as if he were still awake, then dropped him roughly on the empty bed beside him while I knelt beside Lestrade, who was still lying in the floor.

Lestrade opened his mouth to assure me that he was fine, but he was breathing too hard to actually say anything. I helped him up, and looked him over for any additional damage. There would probably be a number of bruises, I surmised, but nothing more serious.

Gregson was sending for help from the Yard, and Mills had returned and was checking on Marshall as I tried to get Lestrade to sit down on one of the beds.

He shook his head stubbornly. Then his face was suddenly even whiter, and he collapsed. I barely managed to catch him before he hit the ground, and dragged him over to an empty bed to make sure I hadn't missed anything earlier.

I had not; Lestrade had simply pushed himself too far, and once the problem at hand had been taken care of he had no longer been able to hold himself upright. He had fainted.

I debated between letting him stay here and trying to get him home while he was unconscious. Reality won out. Lestrade wasn't going anywhere right now. If anyone had a problem with that, they would just have to deal with it.

And I would have to deal with Lestrade whenever he woke up. That did not worry me too much; I doubted he would be up to more than looking uncomfortable when he _did_ regain consciousness.

Hopkins was the one to arrive with several Constables; he nodded wearily to Gregson as the other pointed out the man they were to arrest.

Hopkins looked exhausted; I wondered if he'd slept since the affair had begun. He turned to acknowledge me then, as he did his eyes fell on Lestrade, unconscious in one of the beds.

"Lestrade! Is he-?"

"He's fine." I assured the Inspector quickly. "Or he will be, once he's gotten some rest."

Hopkins looked relieved, and nodded. "How's the Superintendent?" He asked next.

"He's recovering." I replied. "He'll probably be down for a while yet."

Hopkins nodded again, then turned back to Gregson. "They're sending a temporary replacement for Marshall." He informed the other Inspector.

Gregson sighed. "Any word on who?"

Hopkins hesitated. "Crane?" He offered tentatively, and Gregson swore.

I guessed that Marshall's temporary replacement was not going to be an improvement.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.


	6. Chapter 6

When Lestrade did finally regain consciousness, he was still too worn to do much more than peer around nervously when he realized he was in a hospital, and sigh in relief when he caught sight of me nearby.

"They got him." I offered before he could remember to worry about the man who had tried to kill him. He blinked, then he realized what I was talking about. "You fainted." I added, when he looked as if he were considering trying to sit up.

He colored ever so slightly, but I wasn't going to let it go just yet. "It's no _surprise_, though it did give us a bit of a fright at first, Lestrade. After all, you _have_ been running around London like a lunatic when by all accounts you shouldn't even be out of bed. You're lucky it didn't happen sooner, or at a worse time."

He sighed again, and tried to glare at me, but didn't argue.

"_You are staying in bed_." I told him. "This bed, specifically, until you're recovered enough to be up. That is, until _I_ think you've recovered enough to be up."

Another attempted glare.

I fixed Lestrade with a glare of my own. "And don't even think about trying to get up. You may be an Inspector, but _here_ a doctor's word will go farther. If I say you need to stay in bed for a week, without visitors, especially those that are work-related, and that you need quiet and rest, then you could threaten to arrest them and they still wouldn't let you up." I paused for a second before continuing. "Then again, perhaps I should just tell them you need sleep. Then I wouldn't have to worry about you trying to sneak out of bed while no one's looking."

I had half expected a weak protest that he didn't sneak, or a half hearted threat to the effect of 'you wouldn't dare.' I did not expect the reaction he offered.

I received a soft groan in reply. "I'd rather not be drugged, please." He mumbled. "I'll stay in bed."

I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried. "All right, then." I said. "But if I hear of one bit of trouble from you…"

"You won't."

I would have to be satisfied with that, as the man already seemed to be dozing off. I stopped to speak with Mills about the Inspector before I left, and he assured me it would be no trouble keeping him here, and wondered if I would be checking in on him.

"I certainly will." I told him. "I'd prefer he didn't have any visitors, at least for a day or two. Not until he looks like he can handle them."

Mills nodded. "Should I send someone to inform his family of his whereabouts?"

I shook my head. "I'll take care of that, but thank you."

I returned to the Yard to find it considerably calmer than it had been since the attack on Marshall. Hopkins was there, apparently drifting around the room, coffee in hand, occasionally stopping to speak with someone or other.

He caught sight of me and excused himself from his conversation before heading my way. "Doctor Watson." He greeted me warmly enough.

"You look tired." I said, and the Inspector shrugged.

"Aren't we all?" He asked. "Things are just starting to settle back down. It helps that we can say the man responsible has been arrested."

"I imagine it does." I agreed.

"You take Lestrade home?" Hopkins asked after a second's hesitation.

I shook my head. "He's still at the hospital. I didn't think he needed to be moved." Hopkins looked worried. "He's just pushed himself too far, Hopkins." I tried to reassure the lad. "He shouldn't really have been out of bed in the first place, let alone working. I thought it better to leave him there for a few days to recuperate."

Hopkins nodded. "I don't think anybody realized just how bad off he was, Doctor, or Gregson wouldn't have sent for him. I'll certainly pass the word on; nobody here will bother him."

"I appreciate that." I told him. "Are the other Inspectors back yet?"

Hopkins shrugged. "I told them nothing exciting was happening here, and they went home to bed." He offered lightly. That meant that he had been left to hold the fort here. No wonder he looked so tired. He must have noticed my scrutiny then, for he grinned and chuckled.

"I'm alright, Dr. Watson. A little bit tired, but not nearly so as the others." I must have looked skeptical, for he continued. "I don't sleep that much anyway, you know. Why do you think they like to take me along on stake-outs?"

I had seen him the morning after one such stake-out; while Bradstreet had been yawning his head off and Jones had been snapping at anyone who looked at him wrong, Hopkins had looked almost unaffected by their all night vigil.

I let the matter go, and turned to something else that was weighing on my mind. "So who is this Crane?" I asked.

Hopkins' expression was suddenly carefully neutral. "Marshall's temporary replacement." He told me warily. "Or his permanent, if Marshall doesn't return."

"They wouldn't choose someone who's already here?" I wondered.

"Like who?" There was an edge to the question I couldn't quite identify.

I wasn't sure myself. "One of the more experienced Inspectors?" I suggested. "Lestrade, perhaps?" Hopkins laughed; it wasn't a nice laugh either. It put me a bit on the defensive. "Lestrade would be more than capable of doing the job." I insisted.

"Oh, certainly." Hopkins agreed, no longer laughing. "He'd do an excellent job, no doubt. But it'll never happen."

"Why?" I asked, curious.

Hopkins looked me over. "You'd have to ask _him_ that, Doctor." He said at last. "But I'll tell you this, the man's lucky to still have his job after that incident."

"His job?"

Hopkins nodded. "There was a lot of pressure for him to quit, and a few threats that he would be fired if he didn't. It's a miracle he came out of the business with as few scars as he did."

I left not long after, puzzling over that last bit of conversation, though it was unlikely that I would actually get a chance to ask Lestrade about it soon. It was, of course, even less likely that the man would actually tell me what had happened.

I stopped by Lestrade's home long enough to explain the situation to his wife, then continued on my way home. I did not ask her about the story Hopkins had refused to share; she might have told me, but I did not feel comfortable going behind the man's back concerning something that one of his fellow Inspectors knew about but refused to speak of.

I realized, as I headed inside, that I had been distracted from asking anything else about Marshall's replacement. I wondered if that had been Hopkins' intent.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.


End file.
